


Hero Worship

by Patience_on_a_Monument



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Celebrity Crush, Fanboy Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mentioned Katsuki Yuuri/others, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Virginity Kink, playboy Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patience_on_a_Monument/pseuds/Patience_on_a_Monument
Summary: In the scene: Victor Nikiforov's #1 fanboy knocks on his door and gets a whole load more than he expectedOutside the scene: Victor Nikiforov's #1 fanboy realises just who it is he's been getting a whole load of





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a break from punishing Yuuri for being a superfan to just bask in it. Also trying out their canonical spellings, which is weird to get used to - I interchange Victor/Viktor but I normally reserve Yuri for Yurio.

The hallway is quiet, but there is a thin and melodic hum to be heard from through the spotless white door of a Tokyo hotel room. Yuri rallies himself and mentally ticks through his checklist of worst-case scenarios and most embarrassing end games before steeling himself and raising a fist to knock. This is so unlike him, and he can see the tremble in his wrist as he brings his knuckles down before it was suddenly too late. The humming cuts off mid-note and he faintly hears a smooth, very Russian “one moment!” called from inside. He curses himself for not thinking more about what a sensible student out to meet (stalk) their idol would wear and squirms in his university hoodie and sweatpants, clasping his hands behind his back. He should have brushed his hair back, put in the contacts and suffered through the burning eyes they would inevitably leave him with.

The door opens smoothly, and there’s a sweeping hush that descends over Yuri as he looks up into the very close, very beautiful eyes of his lifelong idol and feels an out-of-body kind of peace wash over him like the arctic ocean of those irises. He idly wonders if this is just a side effect of more nerves than his body is equipped to handle.

Victor Nikiforov. Victor Nikiforov. The world’s only perfect skater in the world’s only perfect body. The universe’s Most Eligible Bachelor.

He looks like he just stepped right out of one of the posters plastering the walls of his childhood room, and now his dorm room. Victor isn’t as tall as Yuri had imagined him to be, but his skin looks so soft and his lips are smooth and plush and his hair looks salon-flawless even though he’s just been called out of his hotel room on a rest day. He’s too good for this world. There’s the smallest look of surprise that crosses Victor’s beautiful, beautiful face for a split-second before his eyes travel up the length of Yuri’s body, woefully dressed-down as he is, and the ghost of his best magazine smirk sneaks onto his lips.

“Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you with?” Victor drawls out, and he’s an overwhelming presence and close, so close and his voice is deep and syrup smooth and talking to him. Yuri can barely manage more than wide-eyed staring and try not to breathe through his mouth as his heart tries to escape his ribcage until he suddenly realises he’s just been gazing in silence and not even had the common decency to introduce himself before he started creeping on this perfect perfect stranger.

“Uh, I um…” is all that Yuri manages before he starts to feel the burn of a passionate blush settle over his cheekbones and he begins to wish he had mapped out the fire exits before he made his approach. He desperately wants to release all the air getting stuck in his lungs but he’s scared too-powerful an exhale will contaminate Victor with his atmosphere of lameness.

“Yes?” Victor prods, smile still the familiar photogenic one Yuri knows so well but there’s a vulpine edge to the look in his eyes that sends a shiver up his spine. Yuri lets his shame pull his eyes away from Victor’s but that, too, turns into a mistake when they catch instead on the impossibly defined collarbones shown off by a scandalously low-cut V-neck, and when they skitter away again they take in dark and very tight jeans before Yuri decides that maybe the standard over-the-shoulder glare may be safest. Victor’s really here: Yuri’s really doing this.

“Em, I’m a really big fan of yours and I knew that you were in town for the tournament and Twitter said that you’d been spotted at this hotel so I thought that I would try and speak to you here since I probably won’t get a chance to meet you otherwise and I’d really like you to sign some posters for me, if that’s okay?” Yuri must pause for breath after his outburst, and he could see how Victor’s eyebrows are inching towards his high hairline at the sudden offensive. “I know I’m way out of line for asking this, it’s so unfair to ambush you like this, but you’ve been my idol forever? I’m sorry, except I’m not really, and I’m sorry for that too. I won’t take up much of your time!”

“Wow!” Victor breathes out, and he leans an inch or so further in towards Yuri, bringing an elbow up to lean on the doorframe. “You’re really determined. Is my room number also on Twitter or have you been knocking on every door until you got to mine?”

“Ah-whoo,” Yuri manages to wheeze, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut and his fists tighten slightly around the posters at his back with a just-audible crinkle. His eyes snap to Victor’s carefully appraising look. “I, ah. I, that is to say, I…” He couldn’t say it. “I gave, I...exchanged...favours? With a hotel porter… and, well, he told me which room you were staying in.” His voice grows very small as he desperately tries to avoid describing getting on his knees in a forgotten cleaning products storeroom, but the amused gleam in Victor’s eyes seems as though he could read right through him. God, why was he so beautiful even when he smiles like an asshole? Not that Victor Nikiforov would ever be an asshole, Victor Nikiforov was hand-crafted by Apollo himself with all the benevolence of Aphrodite.

And then the moment passes and Victor is back to looking at him with warm and gentle eyes. The eyes of the man who talks at length about his love for poodles when interviewers ask him professional questions about his skating inspirations. The man who can pour emotions from his heart straight onto the ice where the brightness of the rink lighting and the adoration of his audience can pick out their most brilliant shades, the most affecting hues.

“Would you like to come in then, so I can sign them?” His smile and posture as he steps back and motions for Yuri to enter is every inch the gentleman, and Yuri can feel his weak heart swoon under his attention.

Swallowing hard, he takes his first steps inside, the door clicking closed behind him with a quiet ruffle of carpet. He made it!

The open plan hotel room dwarfs his own hotel rooms of the past and the look is modern and chic, just like Victor. The cool off-white of the walls contrasts with the deep teals and dark greys of the richly upholstered furnishings, and it's exactly how he had imagined Victor travelling from the tiny snippets of his apartment that Yuri had seen in the more intimate magazine articles.

He comes back to himself when he spots a dark glass table in the lounge area and makes a beeline for it. There's a moment of hesitation when Yuri just stands next to it looking stricken before Victor glides over - he's graceful even in his own hotel room - and motions for Yuri to sit. He very carefully lays the posters on the table and smoothes out the new creases before he misjudged the height of the sofa and collapses onto it with the awful death rattle of abruptly disturbed leather.

He hears the smallest of chuckles from Victor off to his side and tries to burrow further into the cushions.

There's a rustle as Victor settles onto the padded stool by the table and pulls the posters towards him.

“That's quite a few!” Victor chirps, and Yuri tries to discern whether he's being unkind or appreciative but comes up with nothing. “Do you have a pen?”

Yuri gives a start, suddenly panicking that he had gone through all this humiliation and been admitted into the inner sanctum all for nought. He gives himself a very quick pat down as Victor settles back to wait for him, fingers eventually clasping around the shape of a sharpie in his kangaroo pouch and he lets himself breathe again as he hands it over.

Their fingers brush against each other during the exchange and Yuri tries very hard not to think about it too much while the posters get shuffled and stood up into a neat stack, and then Victor takes the top off the pen with his mouth…

Life for Yuri crystallises into just that one moment.

Victor signs the first few with polite disinterest, then a dawning comprehension seems to settle over him and he stops signing so he can flick through the rest before snapping his head up to stare intently at Yuri, surprise writ large across his face.

“Some of these are from years ago and were limited, or only released in Russia, or both - how did you… you’re a real fan, huh?” His expression has become impossibly tender, warring with his surprise before the collected, almost arrogant mask reasserts itself.

“Um, I’ve been following your career for a long time, I guess.” It’s so difficult to look away from his eyes as he angles himself towards Yuri. “And since I started getting serious about skating around the same time-”

“You skate?” Victor intercepts immediately. “Do you compete?”

Yuri breaks eye contact to look out the huge window onto the city below.

“Yes, I’m not that good though. I’ve had a bad season, but I train in Detroit with a couple of other skaters. I can’t really imagine doing anything else, I wanted to become a ballerina when I was little but that's…” he bites his tongue before he says anything more embarrassing than admitting his childhood admiration of tutus because that’s already a pretty high bar, and hopes Victor has mercy.

No luck.

“Not a ballerino?” It’s said with a friendly chuckle, but Yuri can feel the hellfire blush prickle and spread over his ears and across his shoulders. “I look forward meeting to you on a rink then sometime...”

There’s a horrible gratingly long second of absolute silence, total and all-consuming.

“Yuri! Katsuki Yuri!” he shouts right in Victor’s face, mentally screaming at not having introduced himself this late in.

“Victor Nikiforov,” he gets back, because haha very funny. Maybe Victor is a bit of a jerk, but that probably comes boxed with the playboy image. “Do you want a drink? I never really tire of talking about skating, and you probably have a very different viewpoint on this carnival from most of the sycophants I attract. I want to learn more about you, Yuri.”

Victor Nikiforov saying his name; a dream come true all on its own.

“Um, sure. I don’t have anywhere to be…and I’d really like to talk if you do.” This isn’t how it went in his dreams, where he is confident and breezes up to Victor and seduces him right off, but he will greedily drink in anytime this Victor offered - perfect, gentlemanly, exactly as he had always imagined him. He watches his idol send him a sultry smile and rise off his perch in one smooth motion before turning to the minifridge and casting a glance back over his shoulder.

“Perfect, Yuri. Champagne?”


	2. The Fan Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get to know each other better.

The afternoon oozes into twilight as Victor quizzes Yuri from his huge leather armchair, legs delicately crossed and completely at ease. He starts off easy to with talk of skating but then the questions keep coming and he's asking about Yuri’s favourite advertisements. Eventually he is trapped into admitting to importing bootleg VHS tapes of rare but highly valued appearances on Russian soap operas, which had been completely incomprehensible to him but he had re-watched constantly for several weeks until he got nervous about the tape’s longevity and stored them safely at the back of his wardrobe. The conversation is halting for a little while until Yuri relaxes into the champagne and the rhythm of Victor’s prodding and teasing - enough to start to ask his own questions back. Did he really start skating on frozen lakes when staying for the winter with his grandmother? (Yes, she lived to see him win Juniors and he holidayed with her until the end.) Were the rumours that Makkachin was, in fact, the third poodle with that name and they were swapped in when the old one died? (That got a hearty but still well-heeled laugh and then a knowing wink.) By the second bottle and his sixth? flute of champagne Victor knew about the pole dancing classes he had sworn Phichit would be the only person outside of that studio to ever know about and he had learned some very intimate details about what goes on in Olympic after parties that may have left a permanent blush on his face, made darker by the alcohol warming his veins.

He's obstinately trying to avoid staring at Victor, but it's difficult when it's Victor Nikiforov and he is only a couple of feet away and he is perfect and perfectly at ease with the smooth and confident charm of someone used to celebrity darling status. Victor has abandoned signing the enormous bundle of posters of his face, having got distracted by one of the imported magazine covers and had bounded off in another conversational direction heedless of the remainder. They have been fussed with while he talks, but in an aimless manner and now look up at Victor from a scattered collage across the huge coffee table, narcissistic, an array of coy smiles and impeccably balanced spread eagles.

“So, Yuri,” Victor begins again, and the way the voice he's heard so often rolls his name makes his toes curl in his stocking feet. “What would you say is your favourite programme of mine? If you had to pick.” The question is presented without a hint of embarrassment or reticence, head cocked and blue eyes burning, and Yuri can’t help but be envious of how easily his idol carries himself even as the alcohol lets him let him drag his eyes down the line of Victor’s throat as he cocks his head. 

“I don’t think I have a favourite really,” he replies, voice small, and he tries not to pay too much attention to the pout that threatened that wide smile. “I mean, the first ones I saw when you were in Juniors will always be special because they were my introduction to you, but you are always doing new things and surprising me. I think I screamed when I watched you land a quad flip the first time.” The blush is so firmly affixed to his face by this point he is almost comforted by it, and it’s refreshing to see a shadow of it reflected. Even idols can be affected by flattery. He presses on relentlessly. “All your programmes are so different, it doesn’t feel fair to compare them really.”

“So it’s the technical aspect of my skating that appeals to you then, Yuri?” Victor is keeping his emotions very tightly held, impenetrable and impervious, and it’s difficult to tell if he’s disappointed and that was the wrong answer, but the proud gleam is still ever-present.

“Um, you were sort of my inspiration?” Yuri says hurriedly, and a long sigh escapes him and he turns his gaze to the fluffy cream carpet, he’s talking a lot more than he thought he would be, and with the Legend himself. He’s talking about his Victor complex with Victor. “I thought you were really beautiful on the ice, and your skating was perfect, and I guess I wanted to be like you. To have just a little of that grace, and to compete against you someday, if it were possible.” A glance up at Victor and he seems as calm as ever, but there is a steadily rising blush in stark contrast to the ivory of his skin that is endlessly fascinating. He gives a small start at the mention of competition, but then settles into a sultry smile and rises from his perch in one gliding motion to pour Yuri the last of their Moet, settling down next to him to the sofa this time instead of the armchair.

“And off the ice?”

Oh god, here it comes.

“Um, you’re still really beautiful. I guess you realised that my interest wasn’t entirely, uh, professional, from the posters?” Yuri tries to raise his eyes back up but they’re magnetically drawn to the little scuff on the table leg and the back of his brain is cycling through origin stories for it.

“Well, that and the way you keep staring at me,” Victor crumbles all Yuri’s self-defence fortifications with a single low drawl which bleeds into a warm chuckle when Yuri squeaks and curls in on himself, trying to take shelter in the ruins.

Victor slides the back of his hand along the outside of Yuri’s thigh and leans a little closer in, the leather underneath him squeaking with the movement. Yuri shivers and tries to simultaneously hone in on the sensation and completely block it out so he can continue functioning, and the two motives combine to send his adrenaline flowing.

“There's no need to be embarrassed. It’s always nice to meet cute fans, Yuri. And you’re definitely cute.”

Yuri is just about to correct him when a pale, slender hand slides across him to stroke a thumb along the line of his jaw and guides his head around to face Victor. Victor Nikiforov, star of Yuri’s first wet dream and most of the subsequent ones, currently sitting right next to him and they are touching. It's intensely familiar and yet unfamiliar with an extra dimension, and it punches a strangled “oh” right through his diaphragm just as Victor moves in and catches his lips in a light kiss. It's quick - just a few heartbeats - and gentle enough that he could lean back away from it, but it's warm and considerate just like he always was in interviews and just like Yuri had imagined. He blinks to stare straight into brilliant eyes, heated and with a teasing crinkle to the edges, forgetting to breathe even after Victor draws away to sit back a bit.

“Was that your first kiss?” Victor says, voice buzzing low. Yuri spasms a nod before Victor chuckles warmly, trailing his hands through the short hair at the back of his neck.

“What about your bellhop friend?” he is asked, and has barely enough left in him to murmur out “he wasn't really interested in that” before Victor is closing in again, soft but with a triumphant and possessive gleam in his eye that Yuri has seen before on the podium.

“Then your friend doesn't know what's good for him,” Victor says, crowding in on him with a hand on his face that trails fingers across his cheekbone before sliding to nestle with his thumb in Yuri’s collarbone, trying to burn its way through his chest. Yuri is sure his heart is willing to commit mutiny; the thumping in his ribcage seems to prophesy it burrowing out to meet him. He has kept his eyes open this time as well, too shocked to relax into the feeling, and the remainders of his sense leave him at the sight of strikingly blue eyes half-lidded in lust and looking right back at him. The kiss is languid and with only the slightest of force on Victor’s side as he presses Yuri’s back into a slight bow, a hand heavy on the small of his back. A wet tongue slips between his lips and takes possession of his gasp, capitalising on the surprise to advance into his mouth. Yuri admits defeat as his world narrows to Victor’s tongue massaging his own, pulling back to smile sucking nips at his lips before diving back in to reclaim his lost territory and trace along the edges of teeth. Victor is a very good, well-practised kisser. Yuri is drowning in the heady emotions of his reality, hands scrabbling to latch onto Victor like his damnation will also be his salvation. His fingers trace the hard, carved lines of Victor’s statuesque body through his low cut sweater and he grabs for handholds in the rock face, pads smoothing along gullies and ridges to lodge his thumbs in the hard line of his hips, trying to keep them as north as he can and not faint from all the blood desperately filling his face and his groin.

Victor pauses, parting just enough to breathe, his fringe still tickling Yuri's face and his smile still tickling Yuri's lips.

“Did you ever imagine that?” he purrs, accent crisping and smoothing the words and Yuri is pulled out to sea by the tide. He’s beautiful in the low light of the evening, silver hair and alabaster skin both tinged red-gold in the last of the sunset.

“Yes, quite...um… Quite a bit.” The admission smarts, but he's come this far and there is no sense in being a coward now. The tension builds in his chest as he gathers himself like he was skating and looking for his jump.

“And more,” he wheezes out after the silence has stretched almost past the point of anticipation - aiming for seductive but wiping out and making a mess of himself. He's used to the feeling but with Victor’s presence all around him it is worse, makes him seem infinitesimal.

The idea is fleeting, smothered in Victor as he presses in hungrily, lapping at Yuri's mouth until he is granted entry as his jaw drops in surprise. Yuri gasps as he is pressed back onto the soft cushion behind him, the soft squeak as it admits him lost in the sound of pants and licks as well as the tiniest of moans that bloom unbidden in his chest.  
Victor is over him now, suave dominance oozing from his pores as he cages Yuri between his elbows, levering himself up and over to get a better angle for Yuri's mouth. Yuri's hands find new purchase latched onto the bony shoulder blades of a broad muscled back and tries to pour himself through Victor’s mouth. The heat builds between them slowly and then all at once, Victor’s hands slipping under Yuri’s shirt to trace intercostals as he detaches from the kiss with a soft pop to latch onto the underside of his jaw and trail down his neck with a neat line of sucking love bites. Yuri arches into the touch and his hips graze Victor’s, which makes the plan for the immediate future crystal clear in Yuri’s mind and he falters a little. Victor leans back up and flashes a victorious grin before grinding his hips down, slow and deliberate, and getting a long, drawn-out groan in response as Yuri’s head falls back.

“Would you like to get more comfortable? I know a place nearby,” Victor croons, and Yuri falls out of the atmosphere to take in just how out of place and cheesy that line was before his attention is firmly back in the room as Victor crawls off him, leaving him cold and open as the air hits his stomach and he rushes to pull his shirt back down. There is a pressure under his knees and at his back and he realises both that he is being lifted, and that the room is a lot darker than he realised. The sun has set fully now and the room looms large with the twinkling lights of the sprawling city beyond silhouette the outline of his idol he learned so well as he grew up. The fashionable hair (so soft, he knows now), the strong jawline (with just the barest hint of silver stubble), the muscled line of his neck (lifting him so easily).

Victor backs him through the door to reveal a huge bedroom replete with the most luxurious of furnishings and right in the middle, a truly enormous and immaculately made bed. The sight makes Yuri fluster a little before he is thrown onto the covers with what was obviously meant to be a “gentle” throw but instead he bounces hard and lets out a loud and ungainly squawk that lingers uncomfortably in the quiet of the room. He sits there like a landed fish, blinking in the light of a ridiculous array of dim bedside lamps that Victor turns on with the snap of his fingers, combine to create intricate shadows that melt together across the chiselled lines of Victor’s face before he sees the shadow of a smile on Victor’s face as he rounds the bed to hit a switch, turning on several dim lights around the room as he prowls back round to the foot and nestles his knees against the mattress between Yuri’s feet.

“I bet you can make better noises than that, Yuuuuri,” he says, rolling the name around in his mouth like it’s something delicious and Yuri wants to sink into the marshmallow bed, so deep that he would be swallowed alive by the sheets.

He swallows hard when Victor rocks back onto his heels and starts a long show of peeling dark fabric across his pale chest, the low light of the room accentuating all the hard lines and soft contours of a body forges through dedication and practice. It’s a physique almost otherworldly in its beauty, much like the face that smirks gently down on him, cocksure and aloof. He sucks in a quick breath when Victor leans over him, so, so close, until the heat from that smile warms his face as deft fingers trail up his stomach to pull at his awful baggy Michigan hoodie. Fear spikes in him as he realises the imminent future involves Victor witnessing and coming into close contact with his own body, soft from college studies and the lull between skating seasons and he starts to panic. Cloth shuffles past his face as he curls into himself in his alarm, and then his final defence was gone, open to attack and ridicule for his simple-minded aspirations. Those same hands start to pull his jogging bottoms down and he shivers at the air on his hardness, appalled at his own inadequacy. The difference between them was simply too great, he was going to be such a disappointment, there’s no way that he was worthy of the man he looked up to for a decade even just in carnal pleasures, he had no experience, what was he doing-

And then Victor is taking him into his mouth and the sight is everything he had ever lusted for as the tips of his fringe tickle Yuri’s hips, blue eyes boring straight through him and he is simultaneously the most aroused he has ever been and the most nervous. The anxiety crawls down his throat to suffocate him and he struggles to look into eyes that burn even in the twilight, struggles to keep calm against his racing heart, struggles to keep hard even as Victor sucks him all the way into the most delectable heat. His hands fist the cottony sheets as his terror realises itself, the fizz of the alcohol in his blood mixing with the bubbling anxiety in his gut and turning him sick. Victor slows to still and rises off him, offering a concerned look as Yuri’s heart stammers and breaks.

“A-amber light?” Yuri squeaks, and then Victor is pulling himself up the bed at speed to cup Yuri’s face between his palms, the worry emanating from him in such tangible waves that it forces the smallest of laughs through the tangle in Yuri’s chest. This is a face that he recognises.

“Are you alright, Yuri? Are you unwell?”

The fingers tracing along his jaw and hairline are gentle with the slightest whisper of a tremor, Yuri relaxing into them with a long shaky sigh as he raises a hand to cover Victor’s.

“It's alright Vitya”, he replies, although his voice is so soft he can barely hear himself. “I just, um, I guess I never really stopped to look at what was happening I guess. That it was you.”

Victor's face falls and darkens in the twilight, setting Yuri scrambling to explain himself.

“No, not like that! It's not a bad thing!” he says, trying to keep his words positive and gripping tight on a creamy thigh. Victor can't ever doubt their relationship. “You've been my inspiration for most of my life, I grew up following you and pretty much dedicated my life to meeting you as an equal. So… There was a lot of time when I could never imagine even coming close and I had you on this colossal pedestal. You're this huge world-class celebrity, have been for years, and I was a no-name college student in Detroit.” He lets his eyes drift down as he speaks, focusing on where his hand touches Victor's leg.

“You’re a celebrity too Yuri, even if you down like to admit it. I've seen all those old men with banners at your events,” Victor says warmly, and Yuri risks a glimpse up to spot a small, shy smirk on a face that looks far too fragile. Yuri rubs circles in the hollow of his inner knee.

“I'm sorry Victor, I didn't mean for tonight to go south like this. I had all these fantasies as a teenager - so, so many, and only about you - and this just came right out of one. At the time they were completely unrealistic and then when you arrived you the first while was impossible; the lines and the… touching was exactly what I had always pictured, but then you were so different and you were you, and getting to know you was so natural.” Yuri tries to ignore the rising pitch of his voice and screws his eyes shut so he doesn't get sucked into Victor's eyes and falter. He has to get it all out in the open before his nerve fails, and takes a shaky breath to steady his mind. “It was natural and easy to get to know you and to love you that I never really put it together, I guess? And by the time we were… intimate, you weren't Victor Nikiforov the superstar, you were just Victor, and the real you could never intimidate me. It's a bit of a shock realising that you were also my idol as well all this time and that I have to live up to you? I'm sorry, that sounds so dumb.”

Yuri cracks open an eye to be greeted with Victor smiling like an idiot and the worry drains out of him.

“I can only hope to live up to you, Yuri. You're too perfect for a creaky, washed up guy like me to deserve.” His grin is infectious and sure enough, Yuri finds himself smiling too, though with only a shadow of Victor's brilliance. “And if you had never known me as a persona you may have never really known me as a person, so I'm glad for it bringing you to me.” He's speaking softly now, and Yuri watches as colour blooms in his cheeks, grin fading into something sweeter.

“I have to admit that it's strange knowing that this is how you saw me for so long, realising that I put so little of myself out there. But then I got a really skewed first impression of you and imagined coming over here to find a minx that was going to sweep me off my feet.” Victor bunches his shoulders and leans forward to rub the tip of his nose against Yuri’s just as Yuri’s entire body flame red hot in embarrassment and shame, a whimper rising out of his throat.

Victor moves to whisper lowly into his ear, “and that is exactly what happened, but it was even better than I could have ever hoped.”

The words run through him, sparking cool shivers as it travels down to his toes and lighting him up, eyes seeing nothing but Victor, nose full of his gentle floral scent, hands full of Victor's hands and felt full of love so strong it still overwhelmed him.

“We're both wearing costumes in this play, just mine was written by my publicist and yours was written by your self-criticism and took a little while to take off, but under it was the real you, just like I covered up the real me. And you make for a very adorable follower, Yuri. I hope you know that. I bet you were always my greatest defender in all those online fights they used to have about me and knew all the details of the training regimes I used to put in magazines and leave out the mentions of my terrible late-night ice cream and rom-com binges.

I bet you used to have a great time thinking of me when you touched yourself too,” Victor continues cockily, and Yuri sucks in a sharp breath when a hand slides out of his own and into his lap.

“You were the first and only person I thought of, Vitya,” he manages to stammer out through the blush on his face and cotton filling his mouth, intent on the deft fingers gliding up and down him, but this time the pressure no longer threatens to throttle him and he finds himself leaning forwards and tilting his hips, gently chasing the stimulation.

But the divine fingers have stilled, and he looks up to find that Victor has pulled in, face ablaze and shoulders hunched up as if to hide.

“Not fair, Yuri, you can’t just say something like that. How am I supposed to react?”

Warmth spread through him, flutter soft, and he tips forward to give him a sweet and chaste kiss, holding close for a breath to bask in Victor’s presence before pulling back slowly. He puts a hand on Victor’s inner thigh and runs his fingers along the seam of his hip, taking care to keep his touch light and teasing as Victor looks back up and keeps eye contact. Their smiles match.

“I’m ready now, Vitya, if you are.” Victor nods once, quick, and Yuri quickly settles himself into his “character” and between the superstar Victor Nikiforov’s legs.

He finds it easy to fit himself into the skin of his old fanboy self when he’s looking up the length of a Hellenic carving into a flawless, chiselled face with its features commanding yet giving. This is where he always wanted to be, even as a teenager furiously jerking himself while staring into the blue, blue eyes of his posters. As he shuffles further back the nerves tickle the back of his throat again as he reassures himself that he is meant to be here and that Victor is Vitya and there is nothing to worry about. He breathes in deeply, revelling in the scent of musk and expensive cologne and using it to ground himself as he fusses awkwardly with buttons and pulls Victor’s cock free of his trousers.

Victor is only half-hard after their intermission, and Yuri takes few shallow pants before screwing his courage to the sticking place and reaching down to stroke from the base to the tip before taking the shaft in his hand and stroking, luxuriating it the shiver and hitched breath he elicits, the satin-silk texture of the skin under the pads of his fingers and the gentle ridges of circulation. It doesn’t take long before the flesh in his hand is firm again, but he can’t break the spell of their eye contact.

It’s difficult, but he manages the briefest of shy smiles before his attention is snapped to the dick now right in front of him and he laps at the tip for a second, wincing a little at the salt on his tongue before licking a stripe up the length and leaning back to blow. He is startled for a second at the hand that jolts to grasp his shoulder and looks back to Victor’s eyes before wrapping his lips around the head and sinking down, down, down. Victor remains strong in his composure with a practised, calm smirk even as Yuri begins to move in long, slow bobs. The unfamiliar familiarity of the expression is off-putting, and Yuri finds himself staring at abs instead with a racing pulse and ragged breaths far too soon before his concentration frays too far and his teeth skim across the sensitive head, Victor recoiling a little beneath him.

“Ah!” Victor gasps and Yuri catches a sharp grin through false incredulity. “Did your bellhop receive such rough treatment?”

And that was all it took for the reality of his situation to settle in his mind and the different personas to meld. In every incarnation Victor has been vicious and frank and adorable despite it, and he struggles to hold in a laugh at the realisation and risk choking on his idol’s penis, which itself threatens to be hilarious and he pulls off for a second to regain his footing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and keeping his eyes low to avoid a giggle fit.

Soon enough he is launching back into the task at hand with renewed vigour, lavishing Victor with suckles and licks and hummed appreciation, the only noises in the room the slick sounds of saliva, tiny breaths and groans ripped from the man below him and the gentle clinking of his glasses as they shake from the movement. Victor is warm and full in his mouth, and he delights in the sounds of pleasure and whispered words of praise dribbling down to him. He keeps his rhythm steady and feels Victor succumb before swallowing him to the root and working his throat as much as he is able around the thickness in his mouth, cupping his balls with one hand while the other smooths along the sleek fabric of a thigh to calm the bucking that is threatened in the tension of muscles and the fist balling in his hair.

“That’s more like it, cutie”, Victor says at the periphery of his awareness, cutting through his focus as he is lifted into a kneel, “but I don’t want the fun to finish too early and you almost had me there”.

Yuri lets himself fall back as Victor climbs off the bed to better remove his trousers and making a great show of balance while he removes his socks, forcing Yuri to choke back a snicker at his ridiculousness. Victor poses then, just as he does at the rink, the back of one hand to his hip and the other hand touching a finger to his lips. The light catches him in stark relief and Yuri is stunned.

“You like what you see?” Victor asks although Yuri hopes it is a rhetorical question with the way his throat has dried out. He has always been appreciative of Victor but this evening has allowed him some more room to be objective in his appraisal.

He is thankfully saved from answering when Victor’s small quota of patience gives out and he crawls onto the bed, feline in his grace and just as predatory in his gaze. A heartbeat later they are face-to-face again, Victor surprising him by pulling him jaw-first into a kiss that starts gently before turning deep but languid, their breaths deepening together as the atmosphere thickens again and focuses in on only the points where the two of them are in contact. 

Victor pulls back a short distance, exhaling straight into Yuri’s lungs and practically preening at the flush across Yuri’s face as he trailed a hand down across his pecs, staying a while to play with his nipple and observe the squirming it prompted before finally resuming his descent. He twines his fingers in the thatch of Yuri’s pubic hair who bristles in turn at the prickling of his skin before skimming past Yuri’s neglected cock to rub against his hole. Yuri’s muscles tense at the touch, craning his neck as he lies to try and get a better view of what Victor has planned.

“Have you done this before, cutie?” Victor croons and Yuri only just manages not to roll his eyes at the absurdity of the question before reminding himself of the role he was supposed to be playing.

“Only to myself, n-never with anyone else”, he says, keeping his eyes averted as his face supplies his own blush at the recollection of his youth spent with fingers and admiration. The effect of these lines on Victor is immediate as he sits up a little straighter, movements a little stiffer, eyes a little brighter. Yuri watches intently through the corner of his eyes as he scoots a little further up the bed and retrieves a bottle from where it was stashed under a pillow. Victor’s movements are quick, almost rushed as he clicks open the top of the bottle and squeezes the liquid onto his fingers. He is almost vibrating with impatience as he warms the lubricant in his hand, sitting perched on the balls of his feet and shifting glances between the lube and Yuri. His excitement at the play came across as nothing but endearing to Yuri, and he found the anticipation infectious as he watched and waited.

“I’m honoured Yuri, and I promise to be gentle.” He punctuated the statement with a wink; the same wink that Yuri had on his bedroom walls for years. He finds himself itching for Victor Nikiforov and he sits up a little to catch him by the wrist and slowly pull down. Victor’s face is almost comical in his shock at being prompted before he relaxes and they move together down into the sheets. Yuri feels Victor's finger brush against him again and he shivers at the slickness dripping down between his ass cheeks. The first breach is agonisingly slow and shallow, and Yuri wriggles against it as it gets thrust gradually deeper and deeper, trying to fight through his embarrassment at being so eager as a supposed virgin and biting back his encouragements of harder, faster.

Victor shushes him with gentle words, calling him his “number one fan”, that he is “just the cutest”, and that he would be given “a night to never forget”. It’s all very cheesy, and only serves to drive the fact home that for all his bravado Victor has never been suave and that it was indeed _the_ Victor Nikiforov had wanted him from across the world, loved him, that got _engaged_ him. The thought is intoxicating.

Yuri is thoroughly worked open now, Victor’s fingers making loud and impossibly lewd squelching noises as they pump in and out of him and the feeling of grasping digits brushing his prostate rips him out of his thoughts and into the moment, arching up in pleasure and fingers grasping desperately at the bedding. Victor keeps his hand moving through all the writhing before removing himself completely and Yuri scowls down at him, toes curling at the sudden emptiness.

There is a moment of peace as they take in the intimacy before Victor moves his weight to his wet hand and brings his clean one up to brush through Yuri’s sweat-damp hair out of his eyes and away from his forehead, for which he is immediately grateful until “I like this look, you should wear your hair back when you skate,” and Yuri lets out a completely unbidden snort and everything freezes.

“Did you just – are you laughing at me?” Victor asks incredulously, and it’s all Yuri can do to cry out “no, I swear I would never” through his thoroughly incriminating laughter before Victor grumbles and covers his mouth in a kiss to shut him up. Yuri reaches up to grab Victor’s shoulders and loops an arm across his back as he hooks his heels across the back of Victor’s knees, the skin contact deafening in his mind. Firm muscles move against his chest and hair brushes against his cheek, the barely-there taste of champagne sweet on his tongue. Amidst the heat building between them he feels Victor position himself against his entrance and gently ease himself in, the stretch burning perfectly as Victor seated himself fully, still not breaking the kiss.

The movement starts slow, Yuri bristling at the slow drag of heat in and out; eyes drawn to the clean lines of Victor in the dim light and the concentration furrowing his brow. He leans up to plant a kiss on Victor’s chin and is rewarded with a more angled thrust, mewling as Victor adjusts his head to catch his lips again. Victor deepens the kiss as he increases his pace, getting sloppy and wet as he pushes himself in over and over, timing the licks into Yuri’s mouth with his thrusts into his ass. Yuri is riding high, eyes closed as he concentrates as hard as he can on the friction of skin on his, the wet slide of tongue on his, the rough brushes against his prostate and the helpless tapping of his cock on his stomach as it languishes between them, but concentrating at all is getting more difficult as the force only heightens and he can only seem to think about trying to prepare himself for the next motion and being swept away in the sensation.

The world shifts underneath him and he snaps his eyes wide open to stare scandalised up at Victor as he breaks the kiss, licking his lips and leaning back to get distance before grabbing the inside of Yuri’s right knee and pulling it onto his shoulder, sliding a hand up to his calf to extend the muscle.

“You’re a flexible one, cutie,” Victor breathes, panting and ragged, and Yuri can immediately tell he is close and trying to stall. There is a subtle shake in the grip on his leg.

“I bet you make a beautiful Biellmann,” Victor continues, his accent thick and catching on the name, and Yuri can’t resist. He reels Victor in by his grip on the back of the man’s neck, pushing his leg further into the stretch as it is pressed closer to him. It’s not particularly comfortable, and he shimmies his hips a little to readjust how Victor sits in him, but it’s worth it for the short, low whistle warning the last of Victor’s composure snapping, going from careful motionlessness to full force almost immediately; his free hand finally taking hold of Yuri’s cock to give him some sweet relief. Yuri can’t look away from him, his face flushed and damp, intent on watching where he is driving into Yuri and the bend of Yuri’s leg as it is pressed against his chest. He flicks his hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head and that’s the final straw for Yuri, who comes messily over himself at one final image direct from his childhood imaginings. He is followed soon after by the stuttering warmth of Victor’s release inside him, the idea sticking low in his chest as he pulls them together to sink into the afterglow.

Their breathing slows as their skin cools, sweat cloying and they cuddle closer, legs slotting between each other as Yuri tucks his head under Victor’s chin. His fists ball up against the bulk of a strong chest, entirely safe and loved.

“What would have happened now, then?” he hears from above him. “Another round in the shower and then you walk out forever with your signatures?” Victor’s voice is small, and he sounds like he is trying to keep himself light. Yuri gives him a playful push before burying himself back in his arms.

“You know very well I would have walked out still dripping and then probably never showered again,” he says, shyness rising again.

“…That’s incredibly hot, Yuri,” Victor laughs. Yuri can’t help the answering smile that he curls against the weight of his lover’s body.

“Was this… Did you like it?” Yuri asks, nervous but also desperate to know the answer, glad that he’s not looking Victor in the eyes. “I’m sorry it didn’t go really how I imagined, but…I…I didn’t want to burden you with that side of your life if you didn’t want to relive it. I never really considered how far it was from how you are until I was presented with it again.”

He feels fingers stroking through his hair in slow, calming motions and lets the tension bleed out of him.

“I had fun, Yuri. Don’t worry. It was a little draining to be that person again now I’m so used to being myself around you, but it was worth it to get a proper look at those posters of me you’ve been hiding under your bed.”

Yuri wonders if the Reaper can be summoned through pure will, or if he can superheat his blush to the point he simply combusts, curling up tighter to hide his face in his hands.

The silence stretches between them, easy but pregnant with tension until Victor shatters it with a simple question.

“I have a fantasy of my own if you are okay with trying it out. Do you still have that tie from the Sochi GPF banquet?” The giggles bubble deep in Yuri before spilling over with his “I’ll see what I can do”, Victor pressing a wide smile against the side of his forehead as the moment passes, all their worrying for nothing. His pulse slowing he squeezes Victor tight, overflowing with gratitude that their lives brought them together like this.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, not the Living Legend and his number one fan but Vitya and Yuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a very long year full of lost drafts and personal stuff but it's here. Didn't come out quite how I expected but it's all part of the learning process!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using the opportunity to identify and hopefully combat holes in my writing style - I'm trained for scientific reports so expanding and emoting are my weaknesses.
> 
> This is practice/for fun - if there are any ways you can see for me to improve please please let me know! I love to hear from yous!


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